The Element of Surprise
by Clez
Summary: Tom has to protect a little boy and his father, but when one man is dedicated to seeing both die, can a single spy really stand in the way…?


**Author's Note:** For anyone who thinks I've dropped off the face of the planet… I haven't XD I'm just suffering from a little bit of writer's block, but here's a 15minuteficlet for you to fill the gap… or something. **Envenom** and **Ghosts of Old** are on the way, I promise! Anyway, the word for this was _strike_… and I nearly didn't make it in time… O.o

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How he'd managed to let the man get a hold of his own rifle, Tom didn't know, but he knew that if he was deprived of oxygen for much longer, he was going to pass out… and that would be, needless to say, less than favourable. He'd tried to strike back at the man behind him as he choked, but he couldn't land a good, effective blow, and was settling now for trying to prize his own rifle from in front of his throat, as tightly held as it was. The man behind him was a good few inches taller than the agent, and as he screwed up his face before choking again, he tried not to hear the child screaming some ten feet away, huddled under the desk, attempting to hide from the man who had killed his father.

Richard Barlow was laying in a pool of his own blood not far away, a large knife sticking out of his back, driven right through his spinal column, severing it and killing him quickly. The man had come to kill… and he'd taken out one of his two targets.

Tom was here to make sure that count didn't get any higher. Of course, he'd been intending to keep both Richard _and _his son Charlie alive… but when the man had made a surprise attack out of nowhere, the American spy hadn't been able to defend himself quickly enough, and one solid blow to the face had downed him for all of fifteen seconds before the elder Barlow had been murdered.

Hearing Charlie's terrified whimpering as his would-be protector slowly suffocated, Tom knew he had to do something… he couldn't let this man kill the boy. Charlie was coming on for ten years old; he had so much to live for. The man – whose name escaped Tom's memory – had tried for months to collect on a debt owed to him by the Barlows, but when his numerous attempts to do so with workers – or so he called them – had ended badly, he appeared to have come to a decision to do it himself… and he wasn't taking it lightly.

"You should've kept your nose out," he growled, giving a yank back on the rifle as Tom felt his energy starting to wane. Inwardly, he cursed at himself to keep fighting, and so he did, with everything he had, which didn't seem to do much, unfortunately. "If you'd stayed out of this, you wouldn't have to listen to that brat screaming… he _knows _he's going to die…"

Tom couldn't live with knowing Charlie would be killed tonight. And that was enough to give him the strength to lash out backwards, with the only thing really available to him. It would hurt, but it would work… he hoped.

So it was that he drove his head backwards as hard as possible, hearing a loud smack as it connected with his attacker's face. Instantly, the rifle loosened and dropped, as did Tom and the man behind him. Breaking apart, Tom gasped as the man stumbled, cradling his nose. Forcing himself from his knees where he'd fallen, Tom scrambled upright, even as he heard the colourful string of curses the 'assassin' strung together as he stormed back towards the blonde spy.

Grabbing hold of his targeted object, Tom tore it around, and lunged, feeling the man's body jerk as the knife buried itself up to the hilt inside of him. He gave a grunt, and conjured up the last of his energy to backhand Tom away from him, driving the American down onto the floor on his back with a grimace. Opening his eyes fully, he watched as Charlie's potential killer staggered and stumbled, clutching weakly at the blade that was killing him, blood pouring like a stream from the wound around the metal sliver. Eventually, with one final choking gasp, he fell to the floor, his eyes glassing over… his chest fell still, and he breathed no more.

Tom propped himself up, and then rolled over onto his hands and knees, coughing freely for a moment before he heard the near-pine of his charge. Looking up, he saw that Charlie had emerged from his hiding place, and had touched a hand to his father's hair. Tom's heart sank into his stomach, and a lump formed in his throat. He'd failed… but at least Charlie would live to see another day.

The boy looked to Tom with big blue eyes filled with sorrow, and crawled over to him, too frightened to stand, though his attacker was dead, not far away. Meekly, he leant against Tom, who embraced him tightly, keeping his head somewhat tilted to avoid getting blood from his nose or lip in the boy's hair. The child shook, and Tom stroked his hair, whispering to him how he would take care of him, and how it would be all right.

Tom would see to that… it would be his way of making it up to the boy, for allowing his father to be killed. He'd make sure he was cared for, one way or another.

"Ssh, Charlie… it's okay… it'll be okay…"

_**Fin**_


End file.
